#happening on screen to insignificant people

[skotiwolves]

I get the idea of everyone wanting an emotional reaction last week with omega being taken back to Tantiss, and while I also wished there was one, it doesn’t really make sense in my mind

They’ve already been through Omega being taken. While I don’t believe Hunter and Wrecker are completely desensitized to her now being taken there for a second time, I think there’s just an understanding to get to work. To put their anger, their frustrations, to getting her back, not to sit around and fight about it with Crosshair

Besides, that already happened in “The Return” when Cross and Hunter had their fight

“You let Omega be taken to Tantiss” and most of Crosshair’s point in that conversation, while directed at Hunter, is now all true for him, as well. To rehash that again isn’t necessary writing-wise. Both Hunter and Cross have grown since that point and Hunter finally trusts Crosshair now. To shove each other around and get in another pointless argument is counterproductive plot-wise, character-wise, and as watchers of the show

Also pretty sure that Crosshair gave them the run-down of why it happened. Im sure he mentioned that he didn’t want her to do it, but that she insisted. All of them know Omega, her choice to go and the guilt she carries is not a surprise to any one of them

And we don’t see them not react. Wrecker reacts as accurately as he can, as he was just knocked unconscious from the Marauder blast and was probably awake for 5 minutes when he heard the news

Hunter, on the other hand, seems to hash it out in the Juggernaut scenes, especially when the stormtrooper flew over the side and Hunter slammed him into the wall. How aggressively he drives, almost carelessly, to get rampart off-world so that they can get coordinates. He’s their best bet (as far as we know now), and Hunter is going to put that desperation and determination to work to get his little girl back

It is entirely possible for something to happen off screen or for it to be an understood for the viewers. It’s also entirely possible for characters to talk off screen *gasp*. We don’t have to see every little interaction or emotion—that would take away the fun.

[writingforstraykids]

I love you - I doubt it

Pairing: Chan x gn!reader

Word Count: 1571

Summary: Chan gets a message that would've made him the happiest man on earth only a while ago. Now, he doesn't know what to believe anymore.

Warnings/Tags: angst, chan centered

A/N: This is for you, pretty @zehina, my fellow angst lover🤭 Hope you like it🖤🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Chan sat on his bed, staring at the glowing screen of his phone. His room was dimly lit, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only sound filling the silence. He had just finished scrolling through the usual notifications, his mind dulled by the routine of checking emails, missed calls, and scattered messages. But then, amidst the noise of daily communication, one message stood out, its simplicity pulling him out of the monotony of his scrolling.

I love you.

It was from you. He blinked, momentarily frozen. The words, clear and concise, hung there in the quiet air, reverberating in his mind. There was a time when those words would have lit up his world. He could still remember the first time you’d said them—how his heart had leaped, how his breath had caught in his throat. The flood of warmth, the feeling of being seen, of being valued. But now, as he stared at those three words on the screen, something had shifted.

He didn’t feel the familiar rush of emotion. Instead, his first thought was cold, dispassionate, and bitterly practical.

I doubt it.

He immediately regretted thinking it, but it was the truth. He couldn’t escape the gnawing doubt that had been creeping into his mind for months now. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to believe you still loved him. It wasn’t that he wanted to give up on the idea of you and him. It was just that, over time, something had changed. And he wasn’t sure if either of you had noticed it, or maybe you were just better at pretending it hadn’t.

He sat back against the headboard, his fingers grazing the side of the phone absentmindedly. The message stayed on the screen, taunting him with its simplicity. I love you. Those words should be enough, shouldn’t they? They should fix whatever invisible distance had begun to stretch between you. They should have the power to pull him back into that feeling, that intoxicating sense of connection. But they didn’t.

Instead, they felt like a promise he wasn’t sure you could keep anymore. Or maybe it was a promise neither of you had the energy to uphold.

It wasn’t like this before. There was a time when you two were inseparable, emotionally intertwined in a way that had felt so natural, so effortless. You had shared everything, from the smallest, most insignificant details of your day to the deep, raw vulnerabilities that you hid from everyone else. He had loved you for that – how you trusted him, how you opened yourself to him completely. And he had given you the same in return, never hesitating to share his fears, his dreams, his uncertainties.

But life has a way of complicating things. Chan found himself thinking back over the last year, the slow, almost imperceptible drift that had started to happen. It wasn’t a single moment, not a dramatic argument or a hurtful betrayal. It was more like the erosion of a coastline, gradual and unnoticed until one day you look up, and the shore is so far from where it once was. That’s how it felt between you two now. The connection that had once felt so solid, so unshakeable, now felt fragile, like it could break with a single careless touch.

It was little things at first. The missed calls, the forgotten details, the way you had started to prioritize other aspects of your life over time spent together. He had noticed it but hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of it. Everyone grows and changes, right? People have different needs at different times in their lives. He had convinced himself that it was just a phase, that soon things would go back to the way they were.

But they hadn’t.

The silences between you had grown longer. The once easy, flowing conversations had started to falter, punctuated by awkward pauses where neither of you seemed to know what to say. You both tried to fill the gaps with reassurances, gestures of affection, but they felt forced, like you were trying to recapture something that had already slipped away.

And now, here was this message. I love you. The words felt like they came from a different time, a different version of you. The version of you that still shared everything with him, that still looked at him with that unguarded expression of trust. But that version had faded, hadn’t it? Replaced by someone more distant, more distracted. And maybe, just maybe, he had changed too. Maybe he wasn’t as attentive as he used to be, wasn’t as present.

Chan sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. He wished he could just respond the way he once would have—I love you too. It had been automatic, instinctive before. But now, it felt like a lie. Not because he didn’t care about you, not because he didn’t want to love you. But because there was something hollow about those words now, something that didn’t ring true.

He wondered if you felt it too. Did you send that message out of habit? Was it a routine? Or did you still mean it, deeply, truly, the way you had when you first said it? He couldn’t be sure. And that’s what scared him. The doubt, the uncertainty. How had it come to this? How did something that once felt so right now feel so wrong?

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in love anymore. He did. But he wasn’t sure if what you two had was still love, at least not in the way it had once been. Maybe it had transformed into something else—something more complicated, less romantic. Something more like mutual obligation, or familiarity, or a kind of quiet companionship. But love? That passionate, all-consuming feeling that had once defined your relationship? He wasn’t sure if that was still there.

He put the phone down on the bed beside him, leaving the message unanswered for now. He needed time to think, to sort through his feelings. He wasn’t ready to respond until he could figure out what he truly felt and what he wanted. Maybe you two were just going through a rough patch. Maybe this was something you could work through if you both put in the effort. But then again, maybe this was the beginning of the end.

The thought made his chest tighten with a strange mix of fear and resignation. The idea of losing you was painful, but there was also a part of him that wondered if letting go would be a relief. The constant questioning, the persistent doubt, the weight of a love that no longer felt easy—it was exhausting. Could you two really go on like this? Or was it time to face the truth that something fundamental had changed between you, something that might never be the same again?

Chan leaned his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes. He replayed your relationship in his mind, the early days when everything was new and exciting, the middle years when you had settled into a comfortable rhythm, and now, this period of uncertainty. He realized that love wasn’t just a feeling. It was work. It was commitment. It was choosing each other, every day, even when things got hard. Lately, he wasn’t sure if either of you were still choosing each other the way you once did.

He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him was angry. Angry that you had let things slip, that you hadn’t fought harder to keep the connection alive. But then again, he knew it wasn’t fair to blame you entirely. He was just as responsible for the distance that had grown between you. Maybe he hadn’t been paying attention. Maybe he had let himself get too caught up in his own world, in his own doubts.

Still, the message lingered. I love you. It was such a simple phrase, but it carried so much weight. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to trust that it was still true. But the doubt remained, like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

“I doubt it,” he whispered to himself again, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated feeling this way. He hated that he couldn’t just accept your love at face value anymore, that he had to question it, analyze it, pick it apart. He missed the days when love felt simple, when it was just you and him against the world.

But those days were gone, weren’t they? Now, it felt like it was just him, sitting alone in his room, staring at a message that should have meant everything, but instead, left him feeling empty.

Chan wasn’t sure what the future held for you two. Maybe you could work through this, find a way back to each other. Or maybe this was the beginning of a slow, inevitable drift apart. Either way, he knew one thing for sure—something had changed. And once change happens, there’s no going back to the way things were. Not really.

For now, all he could do was sit with the uncertainty, with the doubt. And as he lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, he couldn’t help but wonder if love, a relationship, friendship, was supposed to feel this complicated, this fragile. Or if maybe, just maybe, it was time to let go.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @dis-trict9 @minh0scat @jinnie-ret

[loveteruko]

small spoilers for new drdt episode

hey HEY HEAR ME OUT ON THIS BIT

remember when people in the fandom were making a big deal out of those dents in the wall, theorising a lot about their origin and meaning?

call me delusional, but i call bs on whit just tripping and monotv, the mascot of the killing game, letting it slide because "it was funny". i don't think the purpose of these dents was just being a punchline to a joke that apparently happened off screen. (unless this was always a red herring and drdt dev was keeping the theorists busy to shock us all with something else later, which i also find delightful)

but what if we put this somehow strange whit moment on our evidence board next to all the other times where whit said or did something seemingly insignificant, but also suspicious as fuck, and we put our tin foil hats on, and then we reread that one whit mastermind theory post and what if and

[twelvegods]

brutal. kageyama tobio

the sour collective; ❝where's my fucking teenage dream?❞

pairing/s; kageyama tobio x fem!reader

warning/s; none

word count; 815

summary; confess, they said. date the king, they said. he’d treat you better, they said. but no one told you it was going to be this brutal.

a/n; this one’s pretty short since i’m coming back from a very long hiatus and am v v rusty and didn’t really know where i should take this so i stuck as close to the premise as i could and found myself here. let me know ur thoughts!!

“listen to this shit someone tagged me in; ‘isn’t it practically confirmed that [y/l/n] actually got to play for the red rabbits by slutting it up with kageyama?’” amanai kanoka read out loud some tweet on her phone.

the hikari pharmaceutical red rabbits were all gathered in the locker room at five in the morning to prepare for this morning’s training session and you’d just clocked in after a tiny squabble with your boyfriend over breakfast. amanai looked up at your scowling expression as you changed out of your attire and into the team uniform.

“can’t believe you’re still getting hate, hasn’t it been a few months already?” she took a few sips from her water bottle.

“if i knew this would happen, i wouldn’t have talked tobio into going public.” you sighed, clicking your locker closed.

hirugami shoko glanced over amanai’s shoulder to peer at the screen of her phone, frowning. “they clearly don’t know what they’re talking about, [y/n]. don’t listen to them.”

that was easier said than done.

you wanted to say you expected this, that you knew what you were signing up for when you and kageyama mutually agreed to go public after dating for some odd three years. prior to that, you pined after one another in high school, but ultimately thought it best to avoid a steady relationship, keeping in mind that you both wanted to put your careers first.

but you hadn’t anticipated the onslaught of hate and complete carnage when that stupid post took to the internet, not knowing your little instagram story had the biggest snowball effect.

it suddenly felt like you were placed under a microscope and that the public assumed the right to pick you, and your relationship, apart. at first, you couldn’t give two shits about what they were saying online, that it only mattered that you and kageyama were happy and not at the expense of anyone else's happiness. but as the months went by, all those comments were starting to get to you and doubts began to arise.

it didn’t help that kageyama didn’t seem to care, he had never even bothered to bring it up after that first month of announcing your relationship. you have never felt smaller in your life, thinking that he found your relationship insignificant.

“you have to say something!” you pushed, your arms tight around your torso. “you wanted to go public and they’re degrading me, tobio!”

he rubbed the bridge of his nose, putting down his chopsticks as he calmly assessed the dinner you pushed away. “it’ll die down in a few days, you know they always find something else to talk about eventually. don’t take it to heart, [y/n].”

“and you’re not even going to bother defending me?” you scoffed, pushing back your chair as you didn’t have it in you to finish the rest of your meal.

“why should i defend you towards people that don’t matter?” his cold blue eyes flicked up to meet yours as you retreated from the dining area.

you had to avert your eyes. “god, why don’t you get it, tobio?”

“stop being so sensitive, [y/n].”

and just like that, he picked up his chopsticks and resumed his dinner, the conversation over.

these days you couldn’t help but think that your love for one another was dwindling, because even the one you thought would be by your side was also picking apart each and everything you did with a touch of hostility. and so that night as you lay in bed with your back turned towards your lover, you gave in to temptation and opened twitter, beginning to scroll through your feed and mentions.

‘kageyama deserves better than some fame whore’

‘pretty sure [y/l/n]’s only after his money’

‘he doesn’t even look happy when they’re together? #freekageyama’

‘this is just another pr stunt! they’ll break up sooner or later after [y/l/n] leeches enough of his money’

apparently, not only was there a hashtag trending due to the public being completely against your relationship, but not even a single tweet was in your favor. before you knew it, tears had welled up in your eyes as insecurity gripped your heart.

you turned to face the love of your life, tracing whatever of his features you could see in the dim lighting of your shared bedroom.

“hey, tobio?” you whispered, not sure if you were really expecting, or wanted, a response. “do you hate me?”

the silence seemed to stretch on forever.

his eyes remained closed shut, an ethereal look on his face as he went on sleeping, not knowing you were falling apart right next to him. you choked on your tears, turning towards the ceiling and willing yourself to rest, allowing your breathing to calm down and labor out, before finally feeling yourself begin to drift away.

but not before kageyama muttered something under his breath that you had no energy to decipher. “...you.”

what am i even doing here? you thought, just before a dreamless sleep held you in a comforting grip.

tags; @hanayanetwork @planetonet @anime-central-archived @hqintheclub @tahonet

[askinkiskarma]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ xɪɪɪ - ɪɴ ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ

pairing: neteyam x human!reader

➽ a/n: finally, a new drabble! i'm actually quite happy with this one, and you better read until the end for a (hopefully) nice surprise! ly besties, smooches and xoxos

➽ words: >700 words

➽ warnings: it goes without saying, but all of these works (kinktober-related) are smut and therefore minors should NOT interact with them. other warnings include: fingering, tiny little degradation, tiny bit of praise

➽ taglist (x) ➽ kinktober masterlist (x)

A moan - small and insignificant, you thought, pushing past your plump lips like the air through the trees on a particularly stormy night. But he heard it, and that was enough for the movement to cease, enough for the pleasure bubbling up in your core to dissipate almost as quickly as it began. A shiver - down your spine, at his hushed purring words, his voice sweet like honey and molten like the lava in the Pandoran volcanoes you’ve only but heard about and envisioned in dreams and fantasies. 

“What did I say happens if you make a noise?” 

A sharp inhale - looking around the room, where Na’vi and humans stood alike, focused intently on the motion picture displayed clearly on a big projector. Like in a cinema, you were told. Humans love movies, they go out of their ways to experience them the way they were intended, and Norm insisted - no movies unless on a proper screen. It was nice. A stepping stone in the right direction, in the continuous if not a bit unrelenting desire to improve intra-species relationships and merge the now two coexisting words. So maybe what you were doing now was good, right? Cooped up under a blanket in between your best friend’s thighs, his fingers knuckle deep in your soaking cunt, hitting spots inside of you you didn’t even know were possible, his thumb drawing circles on your clit… It’s progress, right? You’re… building up rappor with the Omaticaya… right?

A promise of four purple bruises - as his hand digs into your hip, willing you for an answer you didn’t want to give him, because if you did, it would mean facing harsh reality. 

“Answer me, yawne.”

Whispered touches on your folds - as he teases you with the promise of more, as he tortures you with the lack of it. It’s heaven and hell, just like his whole entire being is. Neteyam was the perfect man, an angel on paper - sent from above to heal, to mend, to be everything anyone’s ever wanted of him. The perfect son. The perfect soldier. The perfect sibling. The perfect friend. The devil in actuality- like he was now, in the confines of the privacy you normally found yourselves in when like this, desperate to own you, possess you, eager to strip you of your clothes and sanity layer by layer until you were nothing but a fucked-out shell of who you were at the beginning of the night, until you were begging him to stop… until you were begging him for more. 

“S-stop. You said you’d… stop.”

A low chuckle - evil and mischievous, filled with underlying ache and a deep desire to put you over his knee and show you how good girls are supposed to behave. Later. Right now, he wants to see you squirm, he wants to hear you struggle to keep that pretty little mouth shut as he makes you come on his fingers over and over, until you’re squirting and mewling and crying, until you inevitably fail and he has to watch you scramble for a lie, stumble on your words as you say to the people watching in confusion that the movie was just that emotional. 

“That’s right. So what am I supposed to do now, mm?” 

A whine - desperate and pitiful, as you grind on his drenched fingers, looking for any relief, any friction that could alleviate the emptiness in you. The chuckle was a full blown laugh now, perfectly matched to a particularly funny scene in the movie. It wasn’t weird when everybody else laughed, too, right? Neteyam couldn’t have told anyone asking what was going on on the screen if they paid him, and well, he was glad because this… this was so, so much better. 

“Keep go…argh! Keep going, fuck!”

A moan - as he enters you again, two of his large fingers stretching you like a dream, hitting spots inside of you you didn’t even know existed. All of a sudden the world, this room, they were null in your mind, and you were alone with just him, with just these feelings and the man who was making them real, with the orgasm you felt rapidly approaching and what you knew would be the beginning of a long, long night.

“There we go. My little slut, taking my fingers so well. Maybe it’s time to give this people a real show, huh… Vol?”

taglist: @pandoraslxna @sulieykte @blue-slxt @eywaeveng @neteyamsikran @elenamoncada-ibarra @spicymayyo @itsjazzsworld @daddysmurfslefttoenail @eyrina-avatar @iameatingmyhair @hadesbabygurl@linydoll @the-mourning-moon @kasai-https @dvxsja (if your tag doesn't work pls check your settings x)

[bloodandthestars]

request please for ex!miguel o’hara x spiderwoman reader, they have lots of romantic history from a long time ago but never told anyone (secret relationship rahhh) and Miguel ended up ending things because he has too much trauma baggage even though they have so much love for one another… but forward to current day (like when miles arrives), they always argue mainly in spanish and seem to be sworn enemies but still f buddies .. they jus so complicated 😭 love ur work sm btw <3

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄

tags: angst. angst as hell. no spoilers! spanish speaking gn!reader

hello all! sorry, i had to deal w the brainrot that is making a spidersona. time to get back to writing miguel! i orginally saw this style of hcs and fic from @loganlermanstanaccount and wanted to try my hand at it. i did take most parts of this request and ran with it so whoops. a part two is possible however. thank you for your request, and i hope you enjoy, darling. AND TY FOR LOVING MY WORK <3

wc: 3k masterlist. credits to the artist, tbd.

You tap away at a few screens on your multi-dimensional device, walking with a crowd through the Spider Society. Another day through the labyrinth, another day to deal with a whirlwind of anomalies. Not to mention the unlimited number of Spider-Men who all need direction, and who better to carry that on his shoulders than your ex, Miguel O'Hara?

You were there since the beginning of the Spider Society through an ill-fated glitch. How Ironic, hm?

Miguel was in the middle of putting together his control center. His platform was being installed, all by his working hands.

Your arrival almost took his heart out of his chest— a whirl of colors splashing behind him not getting his attention until there was a loud *CRASH!*

He turns around, approaching the scattered heaps of documents and boxes of materials like a wary animal. White papers fell around your arching figure when he finally sees you.

You catch his eyes and he catches yours, causing him to lower the wrench that was tight in his grasp.

Jessica comes into the space, as do a few others that were starting recruits. “What the hell-? What happened, Miguel?”

“Miguel!” The second calling of his name catches his attention to Jessica. He looks to her then down to you.

You run your fingers through your hair, eyes unfocused to be swallowed in your thoughts. You continue on your way through the amalgamation of paths, twists and turns past many who do the same as you: stop the anomalies, putting the universe first. Those ideals were drilled in from the very beginning. Since you saw the effects of it firsthand, you were all for the cause.

Safe to say you were an easy addition to the team.

At first, you wanted to just find a way home. That’s what would come first. Miguel didn’t mind that. If you weren’t here to stay, then why bother with the insignificant?

That was until an emergency hit the infant spider society on all sides

Your ears were pierced with screams of fear as soon as you pushed through the portal. You looked around frantically at what you could through the rushing crowd. It was another version of Paris, with the Eiffel Tower replaced with a large monument made of stone. Not many places to attach webs in an open area. Shit.

Miguel barks out orders to the other two Spider-people on the scene. When his eyes look at you, they narrow. You immediately tense. Was it a fight you were preparing for? You didn’t have time to think about it when a device was thrown your way. You catch it with ease— an item to wear around your wrist.

And before he thwiped away you hear: “If you’re going to be here, you might as well be useful.”

You weren’t sure whether to take that as a vote of confidence or not— you go with not.

A version of the Goblin, made of some kind of glass crystal material. His hoverboard emitted light on himself that he uses to his advantage to blind others when they get close.

The searing white obstructed the vision of one Spider-person, causing them to misplace a step on the monument. Webs snap under the concrete they were trying to keep from falling. Your stomach turned— it was time for action.

Using your webs on the crumbling monument, you catapulted yourself to the solid rock. Webs sprouted from your capsules and slid under the concrete. Before the rock’s weight can take you down entirely, you shot out a web to the top of the monument and pulled as much as your strength could muster.

You could your veins pulse as you held on. People scattered as much as they can before the webs bounce under the heavyweight. A man tried to help his wife up from a broken ankle. If they didn’t move from the area, an ankle wouldn’t be the only thing that was broken. Or worse, and you couldn’t have that.

The tendrils of your webbing began to snap, maybe you could try to web more before it—

Red lining shoots out, going under the rock to give support. Miguel skid to a stop next to you, ordering through gritted teeth. “Go!”

You dove down from above, bouncing off the piece and webbing the couple’s backs. You gave a sharp pull. They whisk by and into your arms as you slide to a stop. Miguel can see there are no civilians in the way and let's go with a gasp of air.

Your eyes snapped to the piece of concrete as it falls. When it gets closer to the ground, you webbed over to it to break it to pieces— lessening its impact when it falls.

Within a second of catching your breath, Your gaze went back up to Miguel’s. He gave you a short nod. You returned it, pulling a web out to join the fight at the top of the monument.

From there, you’ve been a part of the team. Starting on small missions and quickly going from there.

Your wrist device lights up and captures your attention. Miguel’s unmasked face looks at you with a hardened look. “I’ll need your assistance with an anomaly case. You know where to go.”

And that’s exactly how he speaks to you now. Straight to the point, no time for idle chit-chat. You exhale through your nose. “Alright.”

Returning from the attack for the Goblin, You and Miguel caught your breath once the portal closed.

You glanced over to Noir and Jessica, who had the said anomaly tied and ready to be contained.

“You sure disco ball over there is secure?” You asked dusting off your suit. “Yes.” Miguel responded. “Good enough excuse to see how our holding pods will work.”

You gave a nod, looking off to see them take the Goblin away. You caught “Now as for adjustments…” from the voice next y to you and turn. You thought he was talking to you, but instead, he had a hand over his mouth. It took you a moment to realize what he was muttering to himself.

“¿Te balbuceas a tí mismo todo el tiempo?”

Miguel’s head snaps over to you with wide eyes. They turn slender in slight curiosity. “¿Hablas español?”

You gave him a light shrug, but the smirk on your face was evidence enough for him. You were close to tensing under his gaze— until he let out an amusement huff.

“¿Qué otras cosas guardas bajo la manga?”

“No te puedo revelar todos mis trucos, ¿o si?” You gave him a small smile.

He returned it.

Now, Miguel looks at you sternly before his image flickers out. You click your tongue, beginning to make your way to his control center.

You had dated for two years— entirely in secret, mind you.

There was the important cause for safety, but another excuse was simply because the seclusion suited you both.

As the day went by, you were two colleagues. Side by side on a mission, working with each other going off of a few glances.

If you desired to speak to only each other, you'd speak in Spanish. A passing compliment, a question on anomaly details, what to have for dinner that night. The world didn't exist then.

By night, a gentle hand would rest on Miguel’s shoulder, causing it to lose its built tension. In the quiet of the space, you’d whisper. “Let’s get some rest.”

At first, it would take some coaxing but as time went on, he would be by your side before you could get the words out.

Your place or his, it was a switch between the two. Either way, you’d feel the weight of his body sink into yours. All his exhaustion comes to fruition behind closed blinds.

Sometimes if it weighed too much, you’d fall onto the couch with your suits still on. If he had a bit of energy, you’d get out of them and then take loaded steps towards the bedroom.

Your favorite nights were when he fell asleep before you. A chuckle escapes your lips when you turn back, only to see him sound asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Gently, you’d brush his strands from his face, bathing in the rare sight that was a calm expression. The tips of your fingers graze the strong height of his cheek, lingering there as if to savor the moment a bit longer.

It was in these secluded moments that you’d pull the cover over his scarred back. Where you’d lay next to his larger figure, close but barely touching. Fingers grazing each other at best.

His struggles with opening up weren’t anything new to you. It took a lot of power to be vulnerable, to take that chance. So you took it one step at a time.

Those days weren’t long gone, however, you both made progress as time went by.

Fingers grazing each other became hand-holding. Hand holding then turned into him capturing your body in one swoop of his arm and securing you to his form.

And it was here you felt the most secluded. Because only you could see that neutral expression of sleep turn into a relaxed one. Where you could feel his need through the grip of his arm in the depths of the night, and not tell a soul.

He could have called anyone else. It's a proposition that only occurs to him after he makes communications with you. By the time you show up in his space, the idea is long forgotten.

Miguel turns around just in time to see you arrive. You lean your weight on your foot, hip out with a hand resting on it. “What’s the situation, O’Hara?”

O’Hara. He would have thought that sting would numb away by now.

You swing up to his platform, catching your landing out of the corner of his eye. With a few buttons pressed on the hologram, he swipes it in your direction without looking at you. “We got an anomaly on the move. Lyla’s attempting to track it now using the intel gathered.”

Your hand stops the hologram, opening it with your palm. In a gold hue, an image of a Mysterio lights up. A model of him spin for your view, some kind of blue flame for a head. Details of his face were in the fire, filled with an ego that seemed to span many universes.

“I remember this one.” You say, fingers swiping through logs. You stop at one, then push it in his direction. “Android from Earth 1610. Not his first time trying his hand at this.”

“You’ve been dealing with him before?” Miguel asks with sternness in his voice. He knew it was there and ever evident.

From your tone, it seems you caught it too. “From his glitch into a different universe. We returned him back to his own but it looks like he’s trying his hand at multiverse travel.”

The taller man scoffs, muttering under his breath. “Great.”

To no one’s surprise, you picked that up. Your voice grew in intensity. "What?”

Miguel finally turns around. With stern eyes, he looks at you and his stomach feels like it’s gotten hit with a ton of bricks. It’s exactly what he was afraid of, hence him never sparing you a glance when called to his station. It didn’t show on his face however, he wouldn’t allow it to.

“That means it could have gotten handled ages ago by simply sticking him somewhere he couldn’t get out.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “That was the beginning, we didn’t know any better. Now we do. It’s called growth, Miguel.”

He held the audacity to roll his eyes. You’re quick to speak. “We don’t expect them to become nuisances.”

“But it could’ve been avoided.”

“Of course, it could have. Emphasis on could. It’s just something we couldn’t predict.”

“Oh? Really?” A bit of edge appears in his voice again. “He’s a villain! It’s second nature!”

You take a step up to him, finger pointed in his direction. “We followed your protocol! You can’t predict everything, Miguel!”

You were there for the best parts

And you were there for…for the worst parts

The parts where in the thresholds of sleep, you swore you could hear him mutter her name, and his arm clutch around you even tighter.

The parts that were once fruitful moments of communication, ended in distance due to his growing anger.

The parts that held you both up at night, Miguel finding another thing to pick apart, to worry about, to enclose you from.

A picture of two you couldn't see. A toy box collecting dust in his apartment closet.

You were there…till the very end.

“Miguel, I just don’t understand why this is an issue.” You hold the bridge of your nose before letting go and addressing him with unwavering eyes. “Noir says you’ve been at this for months, we have a lead-”

“Into a universe that is on the brink of collapsing!” “That’s why the anomaly would go! To hide in plain sight of a possible disaster!”

“No, absolutely not.” Miguel shook his head, already final in his mind. “One wrong move and you’ll end up like-” It was like all the color drained from his face.

“Like who, Miguel?”

Your question stopped him cold, hard eyes glancing at you. “You know who.”

He pushed away the thought of you hearing him in his sleep when the sun comes up. But deep down he always knew. He always knew that you knew something was going on with him. And he could see that you were trying so *hard* to be patient with him.

With every frustrated huff to end the conversation, every turn away from you, you were unmoving. Waiting. Giving him all the time in the world that deep down, he knew he didn’t deserve.

This conversation ends like the others, with a clenched jaw wanting to spill out everything he can but never finding the words to do so. Leaving you there in the dead silence where you feel the most alone.

You shut your eyes, trying not to waste any more tears on another fruitless conversation. A sigh slips past your lips. “I can’t keep doing this, Miguel.”

His head looks back to you with wide eyes. Those eyes slowly narrow, with words coming out like the very venom he creates. “Then leave.”

Those words still pierce your heart as if it was yesterday. You shut your eyes, shaking your head to push the familiar feelings from bubbling in your chest. Even with the attempt of calm, he persisted.

“No. I can’t.” He sounded like he was just saying it just to say it. “But I sure as hell can prevent potentially dangerous messes from coming back— like this one!”

Emotion erupts inside you all over again, breaking what little restraint you put together. Like a twig snapped under the slightest edge of pressure. You fell into that same routine all over again. “You’re being completely unreasonable to the people who-"

He held the bridge of his nose, voice not losing its hard edge. “Do you remotely have an idea of how many anomalies have to be taken care of in a week? In a day? When I want something taken care of, I expect it to be.”

“You’re always expecting perfection, some kind of straight path you can control. Is that why you got rid of me-?”

Your gasp quickly stops you from speaking further— but it was already too late. Miguel’s eyes snap up to you, wide at your exclamation. You place a hand over your mouth with panicked eyes. The silence was what made it worse, feel it wrap around your neck and cause a hard, painful lump in your throat. You know he watches as you turn away from him.

“Then leave.” Those words still plague his mind as if it was yesterday. As if he didn’t have enough piling onto his shoulders, he had to go and lose you too. The one thing that—some days—was keeping that very mind together.

Something aches within him. His heart grows heavy in its weight. He turns his head, closing his eyes to take a breath. Many things haunted him, whether it be his own failings or the atrocities he’s seen throughout dimensions. He didn’t expect to, nor never wanted to add you to the list. You became another person that slipped from his fingertips.

You take a deep breath, wiping your face with a shaky hand. When you turn back, he’s collected himself. His gaze was now devoid of frustration as it was set upon you. Instead, it was filled with something else, something different. You exhale to make your brain know to say something. Miguel parts his lips. In a soft mutter you begin to recognize, he says. “I didn’t get-"

Your senses go off, turning your body away from his to see Peter B. and one of Jessica’s come around the corner. Your eyes remain on them, forcing themselves onto them. You calm your breathing with a hard swallow. Miguel felt something twist in his stomach once you turn away. A heaviness weighed at his tongue, lips still parted for what he wanted to tell you. But you had eyes on you now, curious looks that could grow into something more if he didn’t follow your lead.

He blinks a few times, turning to face the other two Spider-people with a locked jaws. How’d he’d be able to speak with his throat feeling non-existent was a feat in itself. Your eyes are kept to the ground until you take a deep breath. They raise, your feelings being pushed down once again. And you stand next to each other, with what felt like a world’s distance between you, miraged by only a couple feet.

taglist: @manchuria @kokomaii @rea-zxv @vvitcxen @pooiooi @jowtaro @miguelsfangs @vegas-writing-den @m150-50up

“¿te balbuceas a tí mismo todo el tiempo?” — you mumble to yourself like that all the time?

“¿hablas español?” — you speak spanish?

“¿qué otras cosas guardas bajo la manga?” — just what else do you have up your sleeve?

“No te puedo revelar todos mis trucos, ¿o si?” — I can’t just reveal all my tricks to you, now can I?

[howlingday]

Only Survivor Jaune: Jaune was questioning if becoming a Huntsman was even worth it anymore. First was the guilt of how a fraud like him was the only one that survived. The grief of the family members of those who died. The look of his peers when he attended class. Then there's the harassment of the people who blamed him. Could things get any worse?

Today had been exhausting, but it was nice to get his mind off... Well, you know. He'd been tasked with helping with the collection and the delivery of red sap from the Forever Fall. Professor Goodwitch acted as chaperone and helped him by gathering the jars he collected. He got a bit of a scare from rapier wasp but was able to swipe it away with his sword.

As he watched it fade away, he felt a sort of... power. Like he was able to take control of his life again. Granted, it was against something as small and insignificant as a single rapier wasp, but it was still more than he'd felt since making it into Beacon. Now he just had to survive bigger things, like... He shook his head. Baby steps.

Like the baby steps he was taking pushing this heavy cart of sap to the cafeteria. Professor Goodwitch had other, more important things to take care of with Professor Ozpin. What those things were, she didn't say, but they had to have been important if she left him alone. Right?

"Need some help?"

"Huh?" Jaune looked to his left and saw that rabbit-eared girl again. What was her name?

"You were pushing this so hard, your knuckles were turning white."

"Oh, uh, yeah." He stepped aside to give her room. "Thanks."

"No problem." She smiled, pushing the cart with him. "You're going to the cafeteria, right?"

"Yeah."

"How have you been enjoying Beacon? I noticed you haven't been to our classes recently."

"Oh, yeah, um..." He suddenly felt clammy between his fingers. "I had to be pulled from classes. I, uh..." He gulped. "I- I mean, they, like, the school thought I was- That the thing was-"

"It's okay. You don't have to explain anything to me." She said, not dropping her smile. "After what you went through, it's normal to not be ready for classes yet."

"Yeah." He sighed. "Wait, how did you know what happened?"

"Oh, well..." Her smile pulled back a little. "Beacon has this tradition of watching first years go through their initiation. But when a student... you know, the screen switches to a different student. After about the sixth student, all the screens went dark, and students weren't permitted to see anymore. But you made it through, right?"

"You... You saw..." Suddenly, the world got duller around him. There was a screeching in his ears and a distant mumble could barely be heard over it. Suddenly, he was back in the Emerald Forest, and everything was happening all at once. Limp bodies swayed in front of him, screams heard going over cliffs until his vision became dark and he saw her for a brief moment before an explosion blinded him. Then, something in the darkness grabbed him, pulled at him.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" He swung hard at the darkness.

A yelp was the response the darkness gave.

The world came back into view for him. Suddenly, he was standing over the rabbit-eared girl and she was covering her eye. He blinked as he noticed a slight pain in his hand, like he punched something hard. Suddenly, he remembered a blur that slowed down to reveal himself punching her.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorr-"

"Get the hell away from her!" Another blur happened, this time in the present, as something big and heavy crashed into his face. He rolled across the carpeted floor for a few feet, then looked up to see a girl with dark sunglasses and a beret snarling down at him. "What, you think you can just pick on her because she's alone now? Well, she's not, asshole! Now you've gotta deal with me!"

"Coco, stop!" The rabbit-eared girl called.

"No way, Vel! I'm letting this creep get another swing at you!" She held out her handbag, then dropped it. Jaune didn't know what she was packing inside but must have been bricks since he was out of breath when it crushed his chest. "Be grateful this is my normal purse, or I else you wouldn't be hearing me tell you to stay away from my friend!"

The handbag was lifted from his chest, and Jaune was left in pain on the floor. He looked up and saw the two girls walking around the corner. His eyes were too blurry from the tears to make out anything more distinct than their shapes. Then another shape came running towards him.

"Jaune?! Jaune, are you alright?!" Professor Goodwitch called.

"No." He groaned out. "No, I'm not."

[wolveria]

The Anomaly Archives - Reality #002

AU of The Raven's Hymn

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Sex pollen, sexual medical procedures, dubious consent, noncon, mutual noncon

AO3

You typed the results into your tablet, your gaze carefully trained on the report. This was the second sample taken, and if the pattern continued, the third would be deposited soon.

Soft, breathy noises came from your right, almost too quiet to be heard over the low thrum of the machinery. You tried to block it out, but the sound prodded at your attention, like a pebble in a shoe. Small, harmless, insignificant, and the only thing you could think about.

The breaths came a little faster now. The third sample would be extracted soon. You heard it in the way the breathing picked up, grew shallower and harsher. You didn’t need to look to know what would happen.

The breathing lost its even pacing. You focused on the tablet, the screen too reflective at this angle, washing out its surface from the overhead fluorescent lights. You’d considered dimming them, though you weren’t sure why. It had been an errant thought.

The sample would be deposited soon. And then two more samples, and you would be finished—

“Please.”

The word was uttered as if through a metallic funnel. You pretended not to hear, though the voice wasn’t muddled. It was perfectly clear, even if it was weak, and there was no mistaking you’d heard it.

You focused on the tablet. There was nothing else that required your attention.

“Please—”

The entreaty was cut short with a strangled breath, following by a quiet noise that sounded pained, but wasn’t. Or, perhaps it was by this point.

You set down the tablet and checked the machine readout. The third sample had been procured, and you removed the vial from the receptacle and transported it to the industrial cooler on the other side of the room. Several warning signs covered its surface, along with a Post-It note reminding technicians that this was a cooler for samples, not lunch. It was incredible that people still needed a reminder not to bring food into the labs.

Sample secured, you returned to the machine, which had gone into standby mode after the latest deposit. The next round would begin when you input the command.

You reached for the screen.

“Doctor,” the voice spoke. It--…he… sounded tired. “What is… the purpose of this experiment?”

He’d asked you this question already. You hadn’t answered before, and you wouldn’t answer now.

“May… I have a moment to recuperate?”

You paused, finger inches from the command prompt. And then you made the mistake of looking to your right.

SCP-049 was restrained to a reinforced gurney via thick cloth straps around his ankles and wrists, with larger straps buckled across his legs, torso, and neck. An elongated breathing mask was placed over his “beak,” a mixture of oxygen-infused lavender being fed into the line. It was enough to keep him compliant, but there was an additional component that would keep him from true sedation.

You didn’t know what it was, if it was made in a lab or produced by another SCP. All you knew was it kept 049 in a perpetual state of arousal, a necessity for the Site Director’s classified project.

There was a suction device attached to his penis, or what you understood to be his penis. It was an external phallus from an internal sheath, ruddy and engorged and almost wet looking. Definitely raw, from what you could tell, but who wouldn’t be after three orgasms in quick succession.

You didn’t know how the Site Director knew the SCP had sexual organs, but your task wasn’t to know the why. All you had to do was collect your five samples from the machine, and then call in the guards to take 049 back to his containment cell.

Still, you hesitated. His focus was somewhat hazy due to the aphrodisiac and relaxant, but he still managed to hold your gaze.

“Two minutes,” you finally said.

It was all you could afford. Every moment of the experiment was automatically logged, and any deviation would need to be accounted for. Unlike some of your coworkers who needed a sticky note to remind them not to cross-contaminate their meals, you actually wanted to do your job with some degree of competency.

You just… hadn’t realized your job would involve what amounted to sexual torture.

Something in his expression loosened.

“Thank you.”

You looked away.

It was easy to busy yourself with the tablet and not look at the SCP. You were already writing up your note to explain the discrepancy in the logbook.

Subject given a resting period of two minutes for optimal performance and retention.

It was nice to know you could pull on your experience working an office job to fluently speak corporate bullshit. You watched the time as it ticked down, and when there was fifteen seconds to go, you got up from your lab stool and approached the machine.

“Ready?”

He blinked at you; the question seemed to startle him. It startled you too. He didn’t respond.

Of course he wouldn’t, it was a stupid question.

Your jaw tensed and you glanced at the tablet. Ten seconds.

“There are two samples left to go.”

You hadn’t told him anything about the experiment. Hadn’t told him anything at all after the security staff had strapped him down.

His eyes searched your face, and he gave a slight nod. It felt almost appreciative.

You felt almost sick.

After pressing the command prompt, you turned away, back to your stool with a blank stare at your tablet. It wasn’t privacy, but it was the closest he would get. At least there were no cameras here. Security protocols required most experiments to be visually recorded, but apparently that didn’t extend to the Site Director’s projects.

The machine was quiet as it worked, but you wished it was louder, could drown out the soft, strained breaths as they were pulled from the SCP. He’d managed to remain motionless thus far, so you gave a small jump when he tugged at his restraints.

They held, but now that your attention was drawn back to him, you couldn’t look away. His grey eyes were hooded, focus scattered as he automatically pushed against the straps. Fists curled at his sides, his chest rose with each panted breath, and the machine attempted to pull a new sample from him. It was mechanical, automated, uncaring as the SCP tried to fight against the relentless but rhythmic suction.

A tremble moved through him, and a faint whimper was caught at the back of his throat. He was overstimulated, but there was nothing you could do. This was a special project, and no ethics committee would protect you if you stopped the experiment due to “concern over the dehumanization of anomalies.”

So, you chewed the inside of your cheek and focused on anything that wasn’t the writhing, shuddering SCP. Ignored the sharp breaths and the creak of the gurney shifting and the strangled, involuntary moan when the fourth sample was taken.

The fifth was worse. 049 had extraordinary control over his body and an abnormal high tolerance to pain, which you knew from logged experiments and the field report from his recapture at Site-19’s infamous breach. A barrage of high-velocity, small-caliber bullets barely stopped him.

But his stoicism and composure was gone as the machine attempted to pry a fifth and final orgasm. He strained against his bonds and the frame of the gurney creaked ominously, until you heard the hiss of the oxygen machine and saw the lavender wisps filter into the mask over his face.

His eyelids fluttered and his fighting ceased, though his muscles continued to twitch, and he gave a tired, defeated moan as the machine continued its work.

It was clinical and efficient. All you had to do was push a button and make observation notes. Even the machines tracked his vitals and adjusted the doses accordingly.

It felt like you were only here as a bystander, forced to witness something you couldn’t look away from, even when he met your eye, a silent plea in his gaze.

049 looked away first, a wretched growl ripped out of him as his phallus twitched and semen spilled from the cockhead, automatically pulled up the tubing and deposited into the vial.

You shut off the machine and set the breather to oxygen-lavender mixture only. Technically, you were supposed to deliver the sample to the cooler first, but you could justify it as wasteful to continue to run the arousal component after the experiment was over.

After you secured the sample, you returned to the gurney and removed the suction funnel. The phallus hadn’t returned to its sheath due to the airtight seal around the suction device, but even with the equipment removed, it remained engorged and full.

The aphrodisiac was still in his system, or the overstimulation kept the blood pooled in his genitals. Either way, you couldn’t call in the security team to return 049 to his cell. He was already in distress from the experiment, he didn’t need the additional stress of being drugged and exposed like this.

You waited another minute, the most you could spare without needing to log more discrepancies. The problem was… his phallus hadn’t returned to its internal sheath.

“SCP-049.”

The anomaly dragged open his eyelids, and his focus wavered until it settled on you. His gaze was tired, but not so tired that you missed the wariness. He didn’t respond.

“You’re still…”

You trailed off, an uncomfortable heat rising up your neck. Jesus Christ. You’d just watched him have five involuntary orgasms, why was this the thing that made you blush.

He watched you but didn’t speak. You licked your dry lips.

“Your phallus hasn’t returned to its internal sheath.”

Apparently, he had nothing to say to that either.

“Why?” you pressed.

His answer was heavy with exhaustion.

“I do not know.”

You clenched your teeth and looked back at the tablet. Fuck this. If the Site Director wanted things done fast and sloppy, he could come down here and get the anomalous spunk himself.

You thoroughly washed your hands in the sink, dried them, and then slipped on a pair of nitrile gloves. 049 eyed you upon your return, especially the blue material that covered your hands.

“I’m going to attempt to ease it back inside.” You paused. “Can I do that?”

049’s gaze was uncomfortably heavy.

“Are you asking for my comfort or yours?”

You were the one without a response this time, something lodged in your throat. His gaze softened.

“I can do this myself, if you remove my restraints.”

If he’d been human, you would have taken it for the obvious ploy it was, but something in his voice made you genuinely believe he wouldn’t try to kill you, or even attempt to escape.

That didn’t mean you would do something as insane as release his hands.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” you said with equal politeness. “Security protocols.”

“Ah, yes.” His eyelids drooped halfway. The lavender was finally overtaking the stimulant. “The patient’s safety is always paramount.”

You dug your nails into your palm so your expression wouldn’t change. He wasn’t a patient. His safety was secondary.

“Of course,” you said quietly. “You’re right.”

You moved closer when his lids drifted all the way shut and examined the situation. Some of the swelling had gone down, though there was enough stiffness that it would make this difficult.

Whatever this was. You had zero experience with manipulating the genitals of an SCP, and you would have liked to have gone a lifetime without knowing what it was like to hold 049’s aroused length in your hand. But you did, lifting it carefully as you attempting to slide it back in.

The phallus seemed to want to retreat, but there was resistance. With a nervous glance at 049’s face, you carefully dipped your fingers into the edges that clung to the base of his shaft. It wasn’t difficult to slip your fingers inside, but you almost jerked back when he shifted his hips and gave a quiet moan.

That same uncomfortable heat rose up your face, but 049’s eyes didn’t open, and he was relaxed enough that meant he was either sedated or asleep. You applied more pressure to opening the “slit,” as it appeared to be, and attempted to ease the phallus inside.

Maybe it was your ministrations, or the aphrodisiac had finally faded—whatever the reason, 049’s length returned to its internal sheath, and you breathed when it completely vanished. You watched, a little bit fascinated, as the edges covered the slit, giving the appearance that it was nothing more than a seam in a pair of rough, dark trousers.

You watched him for a moment, his breathing calm and even, deep enough that he was no longer conscious. You adjusted the oxygen machine to stop feeding him the infusion of lavender, but still, he didn’t wake. He didn’t need much sleep, and he rarely did it under observation. This was an opportunity to further study his patterns of behavior.

That’s what you would write in the logbook. What you actually did was tidy up the lab and catch up on your other paperwork, leaving the SCP to sleep undisturbed.

The ambient noise of the lab faded until all you heard was his deep, steady breathing.

They upped his dosage.

You confirmed it with the chemical readouts, but even without them, 049’s reaction to the machine as soon as it started its suction was… severe. The gurney would have broken if it wasn’t reinforced.

Worse, the suction machine was now fully automated as the head technician told you cheerily while the security personnel strapped 049 to the gurney the next day. No longer would you have to start each “session,” the machine would do that for you, as well as determine when to stop and how long to give him a resting period, which turned out to be no time at all.

You didn’t bother to ask why the changes were made, you just wanted to get it over with. You waited until the room was empty to buckle the breathing mask around 049’s head, followed by the suction device to his pelvis when he was fully erect. Every little brush of contact had made him twitch and shiver, a grim sign of how sensitive he already was.

049 gave another violent pull of his restraints, and when lavender poured into 049’s oxygen mask, he made a noise you hadn’t heard before: a strangled moan that was equal parts misery and need. He struggled harder, and his back would have arched off the gurney if the straps didn’t hold him in place.

At the first orgasm, he cried out, the noise wounded and raw, and it was apparent why they’d increased the dosage of aphrodisiac. The amount of semen he produced was almost twice the volume of the previous day’s samples.

The Site Director might have found a way to double production, but 049 was already panting like a racehorse run into the ground. His heartrate was faster than was safe for a human, and the lavender didn’t seem to be doing much to calm him.

You gripped the tablet tightly, your fingers digging into the edges as you watched him twitch and tremble. It wasn’t safe to put him through this four more times, but the machines kept going. They were supposed to stop if his vitals reached unsafe levels.

The machine was ramping up again, you could see it in the way he stiffened, tried to fight it, even as his moans grew harsher and more desperate.

Something caught your attention. Difficult to see around the bony eyeholes, but the light reflected it as he struggled against his restraints. Tear tracks ran down the corners of his eyes, disappearing into the recesses of his mask.

You yanked the power cord from the wall. The suction machine went silent, its dark screen showing nothing but your own reflection.

049 gasped for air, his gaze confused and unsteady, a question flickering in his expression. You ignored him as you shut off both the unknown chemical and lavender from his oxygen feed. It flashed an error warning, your command conflicting with the timetable of the experiment.

Frustrated and unable to reach the power cord on the bulky machine pressed to the wall, you unbuckled the oxygen mask from 049’s head and pulled it free. You covered your face with the edge of your lab coat, but fortunately, the machine sensed the airflow escaping the mask and shut off automatically.

At least one automatic system had worked in your favor. You didn’t want to find out what that chemical would do to a human.

The SCP stared up at you, his gaze becoming more lucid by the second. It was also intense, heated in a way that was unusual for the typically calm anomaly. When you removed the suction funnel, a violent tremble traveled up his body, and his phallus was more engorged and irritated than it had been yesterday, even after five orgasms.

“Shit,” you hissed to yourself. That about summed up the whole situation. What would you put on the report? That the machine was traumatic to the anomaly? Maybe. From what you knew, Director Leahy wasn’t sympathetic or lenient, but you doubted he would want the subject of his project to die from heart failure—

“You stopped the procedure.”

You looked up, almost startled to hear the raspy voice. Not that you’d forgotten he was there, but you had more pressing matters to address, like how to avoid ending up on a shit detail after this, where the chance of dying went up exponentially.

“Why?” he asked when you remained silent.

You picked at a thread on the edge of your coat.

“I… made a judgement call. For the integrity of the experiment and the subject-… patient’s safety.”

It sounded decent enough, and you could make it sound even better in the report—

“You did not want to do this.”

You tightened your jaw and met his eye as you said, “I don’t care one way or another.”

“Indeed?” His tone was light, perhaps even amused if he wasn’t strapped down to a gurney. “I do not believe that is true.”

What was the point of this conversation? 049 knew how things worked here, that you couldn’t fight it or change it. It just… was.

You were tired, the sleepless night was catching up to you, and it reflected in your flat words.

“What I want is irrelevant.”

“Not to me.” His gaze was heavy and matched his words in weight. “What you want has already changed the outcome of this test, no?”

You broke eye contact first and attempted to get your expression under control. You didn’t think it worked.

“Regardless of me shutting off the machines, the Site Director will expect four more samples. If I don’t deliver, someone else will.”

“And you will be punished?”

His tone was almost soft, and you winced.

“I doubt I will even remember this conversation.” And that’s if you were lucky.

“Hmm.”

His expression was thoughtful, and thankfully his gaze elsewhere. You stayed purposefully away from glancing lower, because each time you did, it told the same story. He was in a heightened state of arousal, and without relief or friction, you imagined it was its own kind of torture, and you had no idea how his voice remained so even.

“You may take your remaining samples,” he finally said.

“…What?”

His eyes narrowed the smallest amount, and you detected some irritation in his tone. Maybe he wasn’t so unflappable.

“If it is as you say, and this experiment will continue regardless of who completes it, then I would rather it be you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

“But… I can’t adjust the machine or control what it does.”

“Then do not use it.”

When you stared at him, he added, “Use manual stimulation.”

“Manual… stimulation.”

“Yes.” The word was practically hissed, and he shifted on the gurney, the straps creaking against the movement. “And I suggest you do delay. Whatever they have dosed me with seems to worsen without intervention.”

Intervention. Right.

“If that discomforts you,” he said, watching your face, “then you may free my arm so I may stimulate myself.”

You closed your eyes and breathed in, not imagining what that would look like. Then you opened your eyes.

“I can’t,” you said quietly. “You know that.”

He had nothing to say to that.

With nothing left to discuss, you washed your hands in the sink and applied a new pair of gloves. If you were going to do this, you were going to be a goddamn professional.

You approached from his left side, bringing with you a tray and things you would need. A bottle of medical lubricant, sample cups and vials, and a few disposable pipettes. You hadn’t exactly done this before, but it seemed self-explanatory.

You took the lubricant and spread it over one hand, needing to keep the other dry to hold the cup. He winced when you dribbled the lube over the length of his phallus and mumbled a sorry when you realized you should have warmed the liquid.

Attempting to be gentle, you took his length and stroked, as if you were doing nothing more than performing a chore.

He sucked in a breath but remained quiet aside from that. He shifted under your hand only once, but you could feel the tension in the way he held himself, as if fighting against the urge to move, and his gloved hands were balled into fists at his sides.

You stared at a fixed point across the room, working from feel alone. Even through the glove he was surprisingly warm, and the shape of him wasn’t far off from human aside from the tapered cockhead. You didn’t know what purpose any of it served, as far as the Foundation knew he was the only one of his kind and there wasn’t a reason to have reproductive organs.

It was also something you didn’t need to worry about right now, so you focused stroking up and down his length, listening to figure out if he was close. It was hard to tell, he was purposefully trying to control his breathing.

“It would be easier if you relaxed and didn’t fight it,” you said without looking at him.

“And you… would find this a simple task… were you in my position?”

Unwanted guilt twisted your stomach, and you kept any further suggestions to yourself.

And then his breathing changed, harsher and strained, and you grabbed the cup. Trying very hard not to think about this as a strange, horrific milking-the-cow situation, you kept your focus tunnel visioned on what you were doing—which, unfortunately, required you to look at what you were doing.

The ruddy-colored member looked like it was about to burst, and you positioned the cup before the cockhead, but after half a minute when nothing happened, you realized you’d have to help him along. Performing the most clinical hand job anyone’s ever seen wasn’t going to make him come, at least not anytime soon.

You swallowed your discomfort and changed your tactic. You kept your fast pace, but added a twist to your wrist, squeezing on the upward stroke.

The effect was instantaneous: 049 gave a strangled groan and fought against his restraints, and after one particularly hard pull, he came with a shuddered breath.

You barely got the cup in position before he spilled over your hand, and you managed to keep the mess from getting on his robes as you caught it in the receptacle. You stroked him through it, slower as he twitched and panted.

When nothing else came out, you put the cup on the tray and pulled off your gloves, tossing them into the biohazard bin. You quickly pipetted the semen into the vials. It would be exposed to the air, but thankfully this wasn’t the kind of experiment where that seemed to matter.

The kind of experiment where semen samples were needed in copious amounts wasn’t something you wanted to think about.

You took the vial and transported it to the cooler, the pattern routine by now. After washing your hands again, you pulled out a new pair of gloves and returned to the gurney. With a quick glance at 049, you ascertained that he should be ready to go again. He was no longer panting, but there wasn’t much you could do about his irritated, weeping phallus and the overstimulation it would bring.

“Before… we continue,” 049 said, “I have a request.”

You paused and blinked at him.

“A request?”

His eyes flickered to your gloves, half-pulled on.

“The material… is quite abrasive.”

“…You want me ungloved?”

“Skin-to-skin contact is preferable.”

You hesitated. Aside from sanitary issues, there wasn’t any reason not to. 049 could only kill through a touch of his hands, at least, that’s as far as anyone at the Foundation knew.

Well. If you were killed from direct contact with an SCP’s cock, at least you’d be too dead to care about the gossip afterward.

“It may also expedite the process,” 049 added, and it was true. Entirely logical. The soft warmth of skin would probably bring him to orgasm quicker than harsh, inorganic material. It didn’t make you feel any better about removing that last barrier between you.

Without a word, you stripped off the glove from one hand and tossed it in the bin. You applied lube to your palm, and this time you rubbed it between your fingers to warm it before spreading it along his phallus.

049 immediately stiffened under the touch, and then just as quickly… relaxed. He still gave a shudder once in a while as you stroked, but at least he wasn’t braced this time. The glove must have been unpleasant if his reaction was this different.

“Thank you,” he said, the relief clear in the words. You stared at a tile next to your foot.

Despite the additional stimulation of skin contact and you trying to be less mechanical with your technique, it still took just as long to bring him to orgasm. And when he finally came, it was more intense, 049 yanking against his restraints hard enough that you almost leapt back.

But you stayed planted on the spot, focusing on your job because your life depended on it. You collected the next sample, wishing you could block out the pained gasps that left his chest after the last drops of semen were coaxed out by a few encouraging pulls.

You repeated the process: wipe down your fingers, pipette the sample into the vial, transport to the cooler, wash your hands. This was fine. You could do this two more times.

You weren’t sure 049 could. His breathing was unstable when you returned, and you didn’t need the heart monitor to know it raced too quickly.

You licked your lips nervously and asked, “What are you feeling? You’re agitated.”

049 seemed surprised at the question, but you’d watched him long enough to know he was a methodical, observant creature. If anyone could explain what was going on with his biology, he could.

“It appears my state of arousal is increasing with each orgasm.”

You frowned.

“That didn’t happen yesterday.”

“No. It is reasonable to assume that the increase in dosage may be a factor. Or…” 049’s voice dropped into a dull, resigned tone. “Perhaps it was meant to work in tandem with the machine.”

“I’m not turning it on.”

He peered at you with renewed interest.

“You do not approve of this experiment.”

“Does it matter?” you snapped, unwilling to have this discussion again. 049 gave you a look that wasn’t so different than a professor who had been given a disappointing answer to a relatively simple question.

“You’ve brought me to completion twice by your own hand. I believe we can be honest with each other at this point. Don’t you?”

Did 049 just make a joke?

“Let me know when you’re ready,” you said, ignoring his question. When he failed to respond, you met his gaze and held it, your frown determined. You weren’t turning on the machine, no matter what 049 tried to read into your behavior.

His head angled at a curious tilt, and you didn’t like the way he seemed to see right through you.

“You may proceed.”

All measure of his composure was shattered when you gripped him and tugged. The noises he made were caught between guttural growls and muffled moans, each one sounding as if they were ripped from him at great cost.

Maybe a more seasoned researcher would have been able to block out the sounds, but you doubted it. They were half-tortured, half-pornographic, and you swallowed hard as you continued to stare straight forward. There was a wall clock where you could keep track of the time, which was a boon considering checking your wristwatch was out of the question. You didn’t want to look, and you didn’t have to, not to know if he was close. You were becoming proficient in that, at least.

You frowned faintly, watching the clock. Almost five minutes had passed, which was almost twice as long as his previous orgasm had taken. Something was wrong, and if it wasn’t the time indicating it, then it was how consistently he shuddered.

You released him, and he went boneless on the gurney’s surface, but he continued to tremble like an animal left out in a storm.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, blunter than you meant to be. 049 couldn’t seem to focus, his eyes half-lidded and his gaze hazy, but he managed to respond.

“Not…”

Another full body tremble racked him.

“…enough.”

You were afraid of that. There was a trend, one you had noticed from the machine and from your own… personal ministrations. Each orgasm required more stimulation than the last.

You grit your teeth.

“It’s going to have to be.”

His only response was a quiet exhale that could have been acknowledgement or defeat. Your posture went rigid. Why wasn’t he angrier about this? About the Foundation and this experiment? At you?

If he would just show you a little bit of aggression and hostility, maybe this would be easier. It’s what you would have done in his position, no matter how pointless it was. Rage was better than this… goddamn polite compliance. Like he would simply accept whatever happened to him without a fight—

Nostrils flaring, you gripped his length, your movements not gentle, and his reaction was immediate; he bucked upwards, moving what little he could, seeking relief even if it was from an unkind source.

You weren’t trying to be cruel, but you were frustrated, and tired, and so damn angry, and each harsh stroke of your hand was, in the end, an attempt to give him a release.

But no matter how hard you squeezed, each pull on his cock eliciting a shuddered and strained noise, he still couldn’t finish. It wasn’t enough, just as he’d said, and you almost considered turning back on the machine.

Instead, you realized what was missing, what the machine had provided. It wasn’t that the machine was consistent or particularly intense.

You glanced at 049’s expression and immediately wished you hadn’t. His eyes were squeezed shut, and even though his expression should have been nearly impossible to read, misery radiated from every twitch, every desperate, constrained thrust of his hips.

Before you could rethink what you were about to do, you gripped the base of his cock, held his length upward, and bent forward, swallowing him down.

You had a second to register the briny taste of him before he thrust upward into your mouth, the startled noise punched out of him like a physical blow. It was… overwhelming, the taste and sounds and movements of him, and your previous attempts to compartmentalize shook apart like a badly constructed shelter in a storm.

You shut your eyes and focused. It was pointless to try and move your head, his thrusts did the work for you, small enough that you weren’t at risk of choking, but you didn’t have control either. He was too strong, too agitated to slow down, so you held on as best you could and tried to cover your teeth. At this point, you weren’t sure he would even care if he felt them.

When you were somewhat used to the rhythm and your gag reflex settled, you applied the suction that was missing, and at the same time pressed the flat of your tongue to the underside of his cock.

You had to brace yourself as he nearly dislodged you, his movements wild and desperate, but it was working. His length pulsed on your tongue, the only warning as the first wave of come spilled down your throat.

It caught you by surprise and you nearly choked, but when you pulled off of him you had the cup ready, having reached behind you blindly for it on the tray. You stroked him through it, mindful that the sample size would be less than the prior one. But you tried to catch as much as you could and hoped the discrepancy would be due to natural variation. You certainly weren’t going to tell them a portion of 049’s semen had ended up in your stomach.

After setting down the cup, you wiped your hands dry and repeated the process, carefully avoiding looking at 049 as you finished transporting the sample and washing your hands.

That was your mistake, and you didn’t see the torn buckle in time.

049 snapped the restraint holding his left wrist in two.

You tried to backpedal out of reach, but he was fast, and a hand closed around your throat and yanked you forward. You caught yourself on his chest, your mind slow to process the fingers around your neck and how you should already be dead. It was difficult to focus on what should be when your primate brain screamed at you to flee from the predator about to deliver the killing bite.

But 049 didn’t squeeze, didn’t snap your neck, though his gaze was a predatory hunger that was unlike him. This wasn’t the polite, intelligent anomaly you were accustomed to observing.

He adjusted his grip to the nape of your neck, and you froze like a rabbit in a fox’s jaws, barely breathing as he ripped off the rest of the restraints. Those pale eyes never looked away, and as focused as they were, they were strangely absent. Wherever the anomaly’s consciousness was, it wasn’t here, buried deep beneath a ravenous appetite you had carelessly stoked.

You tried to speak, to plead with him to stop, but your voice was trapped in your throat. You remained speechless until he pulled you to the nearest surface, a countertop with just enough space to show you against. He bent you over the edge, chest against the cold surface, and that’s when you gave a strangled noise of fear.

The SCP ignored you and ripped off your lab coat, hurling it aside before reaching around and ripping the buttons off your pants.

Your brain caught up to the situation in a flash of panic, and you kicked backwards. He didn’t acknowledge the blow, as if your feeble attempts to fight weren’t noticeable.

049 tugged down your slacks, and when you tried to shove him off, he readjusted his grip on the back of your neck and forced you flat against the counter, unable to move from the bent, vulnerable position.

“Don’t—” you strangled out, but he couldn’t hear you or he wasn’t listening.

He didn’t speak, his movements focused and uncaring as he tore off your underwear and hiked up your dress shirt. You closed your eyes and hid your face in your arms, hoping it would be quick.

No matter how you tried to shut out the world, 049’s fingers dragging along your cunt brought out a shudder, and you could hear the slick coating his fingers. Your face heated in shame; you’d tried to remain clinical and distant during the procedures, but your body had reacted against your will.

Even now, you didn’t want him to think you’d enjoyed his suffering. Just as you hoped, deep down, he wouldn’t enjoy yours.

049 gave a low growl that was almost a purr, and you tensed as something hot and rigid prodded your entrance. You tried to relax and brace all at once, but you still weren’t prepared as he breached you, pushing just inside.

You shuddered and tried to curl inward, but the hand on your neck kept you in place, and you tried to remember how to breathe as the intrusion moved deeper. It was too much, he was too large, and you needed time to adjust, but he was impatient.

049 pushed the rest of the way, seating himself inside you with a low, pleased grunt. You trembled all over and flinched when he placed a hand on your hip, but it wasn’t cruel.

It was impersonal, just another restraint to hold you in place.

He slowly drew out, an inch at a time, before pushing back in. He was testing, or that’s how it started. After a few exploratory thrusts, 049 seemed to lose whatever had been holding him back, and the next were harder, faster. His hand on your hip was bruising, but you hardly noticed, biting into your cheek so you wouldn’t make any noises.

They escaped anyway, traitorous little gasps and moans, the previous discomfort gone as warmth blossomed deep in your gut. You no longer braced yourself in fear of what was to come, but so he could thrust harder and you could take it without moving.

It was wrong. All of it was wrong, it had been from the start, but that didn’t change how quickly you surrendered. Shame or pleasure wet your face, and it didn’t really matter which one it was.

049 was ruthless, unprecise and wild, like an animal deep in rut. You bit into your hand to try and hold back the scream, and you managed to muffle it so no one would hear and investigate. You shuddered and froze, giving a helpless whimper as you throbbed around him, pleasure wracking your body in uncontrollable bursts.

The SCP thrust harder, but slower, losing his rhythm as something large pushed against your entrance. You didn’t know what it was until he shoved it inside, stretching you wide and drawing out what was left of your orgasm.

“N-no,” you moaned, realizing what it was too late. There had been zero indication that 049 had a knot, or a hook, or any kind of reproductive “grabber,” but there was something that stuck you together, trapping 049’s cock as it spilled inside you.

The hands slowly left your hip and neck, but he was unable to move away. 049 stayed frozen, and the only noise he made was the harsh scrape of his fast breathing.

You didn’t move either, face buried in your arms as your legs shook, threatening to buckle at the knees. Maybe 049 sensed that, because he moved closer, letting you rest more securely on the countertop.

When he finally spoke, his tone was unsteady.

“I… do not know why I have done this.”

He shifted a little, and then immediately froze at your fragile whimper. You swore you could feel every breath he took, let alone when he tried to move, and the connection throbbed between you.

“Don’t… move,” you gasped.

He didn’t attempt it again, but he did curl over you slightly, as if to try and examine you.

“How grievously did I wound you?”

You shook your head. Despite how forceful he was, he’d managed to avoid hurting you as far as you could tell.

“This was not… I did not intend to…” He released an unsteady breath. “I am sorry.”

Maybe it was the regret, or the shame, or the guilt. Maybe it was all of it, layered over those three words, his voice small and brittle.

You reached blindly behind you until you found his arm, and you took his hand and pulled him forward until he was partially leaning on top of you. You turned your face to watch as you pushed his hand against the counter, weaving your fingers through his. You hadn’t been imagining it. His touch couldn’t kill you.

You didn’t know why, or if it had anything to do with this experiment, but it changed things. You just didn’t know how much yet.

“We can’t tell them,” you said quietly. “About any of it.”

If the Foundation knew you’d had sex with an SCP, willingly or not? If they knew that same SCP no longer affected you the way he did everyone else? 049 wouldn’t be the only one in a containment cell.

049 didn’t speak for a few seconds, and then said, “I shall… follow your lead.”

Your eyes burned. Maybe he didn’t have a choice any more than you did, but it was still something to know he, perhaps, didn’t hate you after what you’d done.

“How long until the knot deflates?” you asked tiredly.

Another round of silence.

“I do not know. This… is a new experience to me.”

“Knotting?”

“Copulation.”

Jesus, and you’d thought it couldn’t get any worse. But as always with the Foundation, it could.

“The Site Director is still expecting five samples,” you said, the words dull and flat.

“That may present a problem. I believe the drug has run its course, and I am uncertain if I can be aroused again so quickly.”

“I’m not taking the sample from you.”

The knot was getting looser, which meant you didn’t have much time.

“The tray.” You indicated with your chin to where it stood next to him. “Hand me the cup.”

He gave you a quizzical look before he grabbed the empty cup and handed it to you.

“You are going to collect the sample from yourself,” he realized.

“Yes.”

“But… it will be tainted.”

You let out a humorless noise.

“This whole goddamn experiment is tainted. Sample integrity won’t change that.”

The weight on your back increased as 049 pulled closer, and you froze, reminded against of a large predator hovering over your neck.

“If that is how you feel, then perhaps you would be open to a proposal.”

With how close he was you couldn’t see his face, and his “beak” accidentally brushed the side of your head. You shuddered, a reminder that you were still oversensitive from where you were connected.

“What kind of proposal?”

“One where neither of us have to do this again.”

Sounded too good to be true. And dangerous.

Perhaps he sensed your reluctance, because the curve of his mask caressed the side of your neck, this time intentionally. You shuddered.

“I am asking you to trust me.” His words were gentle and held a sadness to them. “I fear if we do nothing, I will harm you again. I have no wish to do so.”

Before you could respond, he slipped out of you, and you would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed you around the waist. You grasped the cup and stuck it between your legs, catching what you could. It would be far less than the other samples, but hopefully it was enough to count.

After setting the cup aside, 049 gradually loosened his grip and let you go when it was clear you could stand on your own. You grabbed the paper towel roll and cleaned yourself up as best you could, unable to make eye contact until you pulled up your slacks and tried to salvage what you could of the buttons.

When you eventually looked up, 049 was watching you from a polite distance away, expression guarded but expectant as he waited for your answer.

“What do you propose?”

He examined your face for a long moment.

“We leave.”

You wanted to scoff, make a sarcastic comment about how easy it was to just walk out of the facility and away from the Foundation.

And then you remembered Site-19. The closure of the facility and SCP transfers that had so much secrecy around them that it had become water cooler legend more than one of the most devastating breaches in Foundation history.

But it had been real, and SCP-049 had been right in the middle of it.

You swallowed your fear and inhaled.

“Tell me everything.”

Next Entry

[dr-futbol-blog]

Before I Sleep, Pt. 2

Sheppard and the team enter the Ancient laboratory that immediately springs to life the moment he walks in, recognizing him. This emphasizes the physical connection he has to the Ancients, and the tangible physical effect his body has on things on Atlantis.

Sheppard had told McKay to "Shut up for a moment" when Ford alerted him to something out of the ordinary, and while it's not precisely a command (but more of a confession that he's unable to concentrate fully on his surroundings when he's listening to McKay), McKay does stay quiet for a notably long time. For someone that experiences anxiety from 'not talking' (cf. Tao of Rodney, S03E14) and whose anxiety can only be increased by the sudden halt in their domestic conversation--not knowing what's going on and suspecting the worst given the previous experience he had down in the city in Hot Zone (S01E13)--he tries very much to be helpful by doing as he was told. But as soon as he hears a strange mechanical sound, he has to voice his agitation with "What-- what is it?"

In the lab, they find an elderly woman preserved in a state of metabolic stasis. They are joined by Weir, whereas McKay and Beckett seem to have joined them off-screen some time before this, discussion ensuing on what they should do with her. It's interesting that again we see the the entire scene with Weir whereas it's made clear by Sheppard's comment to McKay ("You said she was frozen") that he had said something before Weir's entrance that we never got to hear. Again there seem to be not insignificant chunks of dialogue that have happened between them that we, as the audience, are not privy to. It's not just interesting that this keeps happening. It's interesting that this is contrasted with it not happening between Weir and Sheppard. There's the text. And then there is definite subtext.

We get a reference back to the previous episode Sanctuary (S01E14) with McKay throwing shade Sheppard's way:

Beckett: She's so old I'm afraid the process of reviving her might actually kill her. McKay: We cannot let this chance to talk to a living, breathing Ancient slip through our fingers--again. Beckett: And who knows what state of mind she'll be in? Not to mention the fact that she might be carrying some horrifying contagion. McKay: And who knows what she knows about our city? More importantly, does she know about any ZPMs lying around? Sheppard: Ah, there's a thought.

He's still understandably salty about the whole affair and we never find out what, if anything, Sheppard told them about what happened on Proculus after he took on after her with the jumper. We do know how he described it in his mission report but that would likely be known by Weir only. And if this episode teaches us anything, it's that his mission report did nothing to change her view on there being some kind of monkey business going on between Sheppard and McKay.

But we are able to tell by their behaviour that Sheppard and McKay are on much better terms than we last saw them, and it's even possible that what ever melding took place between Sheppard and Chaya had some kind of a soul-purifying effect on him, easing the burden of his guilt--temporary though its effects may be. He still narrows his eyes at McKay, his expression once more difficult to read. A quick narrowing the eyes is thought to convey hurt, contempt, distaste, or anger - basically seeing something you would rather not see. The thing that he would rather not see here is McKay, of all people, openly mocking what was anything but an easy experience for him, albeit he is somewhat justified in doing so (and the physical, bodily words he uses to describe it, 'living, breathing', 'our fingers', might suggest that Sheppard had, in fact, told him everything). Especially due to the cold shoulder he had been giving McKay before they had even met her for reasons that he clearly did not understand at the time.

This is why he quickly shifts his eyes away from McKay while still squinting, looking contrite, as he's very much blaming himself for what took place. It's not even entirely clear whether he himself realizes that he was being mind-controlled during the ordeal, albeit the look he gave Chaya after she had caught them arguing in front of her door (and what he wrote in his mission report about himself having been at the receiving end of an attempted seduction) suggests that he did figure it out. At the very least, he feels as though he got played by an Ancient, and that despite all of his efforts, he had failed to provide safety for the people of this galaxy.

Not surprisingly, Sheppard sides with McKay on what should be done with her. Beckett objects but Weir makes the call based on McKay's recommendation as supported by Sheppard. McKay is talking very fast and sounds somewhat irritated, he even calls what he's doing with Beckett "arguing about it." Some of his irritation may be Sheppard related, and Sheppard knows this, but not all of it is.

McKay does not look at Sheppard as he exists the lab, and Sheppard doesn't turn to look at him as he goes. But it's not from not wanting to look, as the camera pans in a way that actually invites us to expect his gaze to follow McKay walking out and yet, he doesn't turn his head. The panning tells us that it's not because he's captivated by the sight of this would-be Ancient and can't look away, it's because by fixing his eyes on her he's fighting his natural inclination at this moment.

But McKay's comment also tells us that despite what he might have felt about Chaya and especially the hold she seemed to have on Sheppard, he does have a genuine desire to learn from and about the Ancients. It doesn't seem as though they've quite reached the "We'll laugh about it later" stage about it yet, and there's definite soreness there on both sides. While their discussion on the intercom was good-natured, it seems like they don't quite know how to be around the other here, especially with other people around. They are trying to find their footing around the other. But during this episode, we see them trying to get there.

And yet it isn't only McKay that's making Sheppard feel uneasy here. Looking at her, someone that has been alone for 10,000 years, has manifested to him both what he fears and what he thinks he deserves. When he met the 10,000 year-old wraith previously, he used the vastness of his loneliness in an attempt to hurt the thing because it's what most hurts himself. He can sympathize with the woman in stasis, just like he could sympathize with the wraith enough to turn it into a weapon against it. He doesn't confess to it out right, but we can hear an echo of this in his words:

Sheppard: The whole time we thought this city was abandoned. Teyla: Is it possible the Atlanteans left her behind when they abandoned the city for Earth? Sheppard: Maybe she wanted to stay behind.

Maybe she wanted to stay behind, he muses. The man who had chosen to fly helicopters in the most remote part of his world in a hope that shutting himself off where there are no people would keep him from getting too close to anyone to get hurt again. To get anyone hurt again. In a way he envies her. Though he has tried to escape into solitude, Sheppard does not yet know what it means to be truly alone. He does not yet know what it means to love someone so much that he would willingly choose inhumanly unbearable loneliness if it meant that this person could be happy for just one moment. One day, we will see him get to that point. But in this episode, we get to contrast where Sheppard and McKay are now with where they started, months ago. And it seems that the time they have spent around each other has changed them both.

Continued in Pt. 3

[cy-cyborg]

Hey just a heads up, I've noticed a not insignificant number of people tagging my posts with "no ID" or "No Description" etc. I was getting really confused about it, because I make sure all my stuff has image descriptions in the alt text, and is tagged as such.

But when I went to reblog a friend's post, I noticed the little black "alt text" box that appears in the corner when you've added an image description wasn't there, despite knowing they did add one (because they asked me for help writing it lol).

Turns out tumblr hides it while you're on the reblog screen. It's still there, though, once you post it.

So please be mindful to check for that box before reblogging! I've seen a few people getting frustrated over their stuff being tagged as not having an image description when it does, so I figured this might be worthwhile pointing out to folks since it seems to be happening a lot, not just to me.

Of course, if I actually do forget to add an image description, please let me know, and I'll fix it asap!

[robin1729]

living in the moment ft. my dad

I have always had my head in the clouds, a little bit? I have spent my entire life lost in stories. It started with those magazines they have for kids. Champak, Magic Pot, Tinkle. Then it moved to novels for kids. Secret Seven, Famous Five, anything Enid Blyton really. Then Fantasy. Percy Jackson, Harry Potter, Artemis Fowl. Then as we grew older, the classics. Pride and Prejudice, Oliver Twist, Black Beauty. I was the kid who always had his nose in a book. In our substitute periods, my friends would be calling my name and I simply wouldn't hear them because that's how engrossed I was. I would be walking down the stairs with my head in a book and people would warn me that I am going to fall, and I would tell them (with a bit of pretentious snobbiness, I have to admit) that I had been doing this shit since I was 6.

Then came college, and like a lot of people I shifted to shows and movies. How I met your mother, Parks and Recreation, New girl. The same thing happened. My eyes were now always glued to my phone screen. I watched with so much concentration and watched the same things so many times I ended up memorising entire 9 season long shows. I started narrating movies dialogue-by-dialogue in front of my friends.

My dad didn't help either. He had to see every movie that came out. If too many movies came out in a month, he would bring pirated CDs for 50 rupees each and we would watch them on our tv. He would randomly come in his car in the evenings when me and my brother would be playing with our friends, roll down his windows, and say "Get in the car, we are going to the theater." Our friends would watch with childish jealousy as we just randomly up and went to see a movie. We wouldn't even check what was in the theaters that week. We would just get there and sit for whatever was starting in the next 15 minutes. I have seen so many sequels without watching the original?

Somewhere in all of this, I think I lost some sense of reality. I would be writing novels in my head. And no, not just outlines. I would be sitting on the dining table, writing them in my head sentence-by-sentence as I ate my food, mouthing dialogues that my characters would speak in the way they would speak them and not realise what I was doing until my brother pointed it out. That must have been creepy for him, to say the least. Suddenly I am 23 and life is more complicated than in any book, show, or movie I had ever read or seen. People on LinkedIn talking about the best investments and wanting to build careers and customer service strategies and I find it so hard to care sometimes??

Why can't I just be happy that my friend Hagrid has come back from Azkaban where he was wrongfully imprisoned for being the heir of Slytherin and that Gryffindor has won the house cup again? But noooo, I have to make excel sheets, and powerpoint presentations, and think of the best way to automate our processes. The real world is so, so boring.

My dad, somehow though, lives in both these worlds. He still watches every hindi movie and show that comes out. But never gets too attached. He really just watches them for simple entertainment and then doesn't get obsessed??? what a maniac?? He doesn't even remember plots of movies he saw two weeks back. And I remember movies I saw when I was 15 like I saw them yesterday. Whenever we talk, I want to talk about astronomy, and philosophy. About how tiny and insignificant we are in space and time, about thought experiments. And he never has anything to say about any of those things. He just nods and listens. "I don't really think about this stuff," he says. He has experienced way more stories than I have, and yet his head stays on the ground. If it's not something that affects him here and now, in the real world, he doesn't wanna hear about it. Who cares if wormholes can exist or not, when it's not affecting his life in any way?

And like, I get it. Life already throws so many things in your way; why add to it, right? He keeps his head clear, focuses only on the present, and on what is directly in front of him. A simple man. And on some level, I admire that. And I have been trying to be like that. But I don't want to lose my passion for stories, for things like the universe and different theories of ethics.

There's this very young businesswoman and internet personality I admire, and she is a great speaker. She always comes across as very confident and very sure of herself. And she was asked in an event how she deals with any failures or setbacks. And she said that she has learnt to regulate her emotions, so that she doesn't get too happy when something goes her way, and she doesn't get too sad when something doesn't.

Isn't that... kind of sad? It broke my heart, to be honest. I wanna be madly happy when something goes my way, dude. I wanna party and feel like I am on top of the world and that I am invincible. Moderating your emotions sounds like dulling the human experience.

Like always, I don't know what the answer is. But right now I am a little tired of feeling too much, of thinking too much. So I am going to try my dad's approach for a while, and let you know how it goes.

[primeministerofantarctica]

something i think about a lot is how woy's biggest theme is the power of redemptive kindness and yet a lot of wander's concentrated efforts to redeem villains by being nice to them...don't work.

he persistently annoys hater for two seasons and only manages the slightest change of heart near the end. dominator is never "redeemed". emperor awesome and all the others are still galactic dictators. even the characters who aren't evil but are just generally unpleasant like brad starlight don't get an enlightening "oh wow, you're right, maybe i should be nice!" moment.

and the characters who did turn around and have a change of heart because of him, it all happened off-screen, and was implied to take years and years and years of effort for major threat; less for sylvia but being at her side 24/7 certainly helped.

then there's the black cube, a major villain who does turn around and have a change of heart, but it's out of their choice. wander might be there to offer moral support and encouragement (and banjo lessons), but ultimately the black cube had to decide for themself to change. and i think that's important, because in real life you can't make people change. no matter how hard you try the decision to be a better person will always come down to them and them alone.

and i think that's an interesting approach, because while woy does say that being nice is important, it's very realistic in how it definitely doesn't work all the time. you really can't change an evil dictator just by being nice to them once or twice. sometimes people are just assholes. there's no pretense about the world being sunshine and rainbows and hugs (no matter how much wander wants it to be 😔✌️). it's...surprisingly mature when you think about it.

and when it does work? when he lets a young girl buy the last bottle of soda and she gives it to him in return? when the parents at the shopping mall thank him for watching their lost kid? those moments are so, so small, they practically seem insignificant in the grander scheme of the show. and yet when we get to the secret planet episode near the end, and wander confesses to the others that he's "just a wandering weirdo", everybody recognizes him because of those moments. because being nice is a ripple effect, and most of the time you can't see the waves. you just have to throw a rock in and hope for the best.

and it never hurts to try.

[felixisourayofsunshine]

I realised that I had this in my drafts for quite some time. Appearantly I forgot to post it. I am gonna modify it and post it now cuz we NEED to talk about this...

Okay so i just watched the interview of the miraculous ladybug writers about the end of season 5............. and my god I am so annoyed right now....

what do you mean that Gabriel was a hero??? as much as i know about a hero, heroes donot go around destroying cities,fighing teenagers,taking advantage of people's vulnerability. That man physically and mentally tortured his own son for years, Yeeted him across Paris, forced his girlfriend to break up with him by emotionally blackmailing her, seperated his son from the girl he loves, and what not. I understand that he was in grief and sorrow due to his wife's death , ok you can turn into villain due to that but that doesn't give to the right to treat your son like this. So what? By sacrificing himself for the wish HE wanted to make he became a hero? What logic is that? Imagine making a statue of a fucking villain which is taller than the heroes'. And the lady in end of the episode was not Emilie but Amelie wtf huh? You are telling me that all those years of being an insignificant character she still remains insignificant? You want me to believe that the terrorist who destroyed not only Paris but traumatized them of life, destroyed teenagers' lives, enslaved his own son for years is a hero? NOT HAPPENING!!

Also they had planned from the beginning that Chat was not gonna be in the final fight with Hawkmoth... Great you proved that to you his character was useless from the start. You guys have been neglecting the poor boy since the very begging , y'all are just too biased towards ladybug. Why name the show Miraculous: Tales of ladybug and Chat Noir just remove his name from the title at his point. Believe me or not Adrien has much more potential as a main character than Mari. I am not hating on her or anything but my girl just doesn't know how to deal with pressure well, and again it's just the product of poor writing done on her. I just hate how biased they are towards Mari that they tend to turn a blind eye at Adrien at times.but you don't even give him enough screen time even though he is supposed to be the main character along with ladybug.

And about their poorly written character.... let's just take Chloe for example, my girl is the most inconsistent character in the show. Till this day they can't decide whether to make her good or bad. She starts as a bad person, then tries to become good, then turns bad again, also team up with Lila (and just WHY would you do that ) and in the end becomes bad again. Choose between good or bad, she is swinging between being good or bad, settle with one thing for goodness' sake.

Also while we are at it let's talk about the poor writing of the show. They just don't know how to execute ideas. Now they mostly rely on timelines all the time.They just think "Oh this idea seems nice but we don't wanna change the show much, ohh don't worry we'll just make it an alternate timeline!! Problem Solved!!!". This is not the right thing to do . They hype us up by showing us something and then in the end they just reverse the timeline.

And how on earth was it Mari's win? In what sense is it the hero's win if the villain reaches his goal? And let's just not talk about the trauma this all gave Mari. She just carries too much burden on her shoulders... Only she knows that the person they are now calling a hero is actually a villain.

And finally, 8 damn years, it's almost been a decade since the show started and we still ain't got no reveal? C'mon if you can't even let the reveal happen in five season then how much longer it will take to reveal themselves? are you even planning to let the damn reveal happen or will just end the show after I don't know how many more seasons without letting them reveal themselves?

#justiceforourcatboy

[sapphire-weapon]

Final thoughts on Death Island.

First, the less serious and sometimes shitpost/meme shit:

spent a not-insignificant amount of this movie distracted by Leon’s body hair, which is not a thing I ever thought I’d say, but sweet Jesus it’s about damn time

RIP Chris’s tiger shirt. that thing ripped easier than one of Hulk Hogan’s tank tops, man.

I get that she’s a BOW or whatever, but it’s never not going to blow my mind that this series gets away with its darling male protagonist (Leon) punching a woman in the face on screen

in fact, it’s kind of wild that Maria’s only purpose for being in this movie is to just hunt Leon for sport. like she’s literally ONLY there to beat his ass. what a fuckin queen.

I’m not saying that it’s canon that Leon and Jill had sex at some point, perhaps multiple times, between RE5 and Death Island. I’m just saying they were very, very chummy and hands-on with each other, and Chris was seemingly absent from Jill’s life for those six years, so.

actually, you know what. there’s a non-zero chance Leon has actually banged the entire recurring cast by this point. except maybe Rebecca. because she’s smarter than the other three.

Leon and Chris are the most married they have ever been, holy shit they are so fucking married

my reaction to Leon repeatedly saying the word “terrorist” in this movie probably should not have been “oooh say it again~” but it was because “this is no ritual. it’s terrorism” is still the single most ridiculous line that has ever come out of that man’s mouth, and I really felt the absence of it in RE4make, so I’m glad its spirit still lives on

Chris is looking old, dude. he’s beat the fuck up.

but so is Leon. when I wasn’t distracted by Leon’s body hair, I was distracted by the lines around his mouth. so, Chris has obvious wrinkles forming around his eyes, and Leon has them forming around his mouth. but the girls are all pristine. mhm.

OK SO IS INFINITE DARKNESS CANON OR NOT BECAUSE DEATH ISLAND REAFFIRMS DEGENERATION AS CANON, BUT ID AND DEGEN CAN’T EXIST IN THE SAME REALITY DON’T MAKE ME PULL OUT THE FUCKING CORKBOARD AGAIN

Now, the more serious actual commentary:

it’s a little nuts to me how I keep seeing people in fandom say that Leon has no hint of depression in this movie. when Dylan is verbally dragging them all while they’re slowly succumbing to the T-Virus, both Chris and Claire clap back with affirmations that they believe in what they’re doing and that they’re doing the right thing. Leon... doesn’t. 

like, Dylan says to him basically “you're stuck in this horrible nightmare that keeps repeating because the people that you fight for put you through it on purpose because it serves their own ends, and it’s got you burnt out, but they just keep using you.” and Leon’s response is basically “I mean, you’re not wrong, but I don't exactly have a choice, so.”

he’s still stuck and trapped and resentful of his position, and he’s reached a point now where he’s just resigned himself to his fate. there’s very much a sense of inevitability about him, which is reinforced at the end when he tells Chris that this is just going to keep happening -- fuckers like Dylan are always going to keep coming back, because they always do.

the man shouldn’t have to be outwardly despairing and visibly drunk for people to pick up on his depressive mindset, but I guess I don’t know what I expected from this fandom.

Leon’s character was actually perfect in this movie. whoever wrote him this time around Gets It. he’s written the way that I write OG Leon and have been writing him for years. his humor-as-a-coping-mechanism is there without being obnoxious (which is where Damnation fucked up), his professionalism is there without being too serious (which is where Degeneration fucked up), his depressive mindset is there without fully consuming him (which is where Vendetta fucked up), and his latent anger at the state of things and at his life in general is there without feeling like it’s dysregulated (which is where Infinite Darkness fucked up).

so, for the anon who asked me what my favorite iteration of Leon is: the answer is Death Island. he is pitch perfect in this movie. straight up.

it did really catch my attention how the movie made it a point to call attention to Leon being burnt out. there’s just something about the way it happened that makes me feel like they’re setting up for Leon’s character to get retired in RE9. I don’t know why I think that, because it makes no sense from a business standpoint for him to be the first of the five to get retired, but. I dunno, man.

the only bit of weirdness in this movie was the whole Chris and Jill thing at the beginning that I already commented on. everything else in this movie was basically perfect. this is the best version of Claire we’ve seen since Code Veronica. like, hands down. Rebecca getting giddy and geeking out over beating the big monster with science could not have been more perfect. everything about Jill was excellent.

like, I have so few things to complain about re: this movie that I’m sitting here going “you know the mocap was kind of wonky in some spots” WHICH IS THE MOST ARBITRARY, NITPICKY SHIT EVER.

but like

I’m just going to throw this out there

but Dylan was super right.

he was so correct in a way that no RE villain has ever been correct ever in the history of this series. I kind of... spent some of this movie actually rooting for him. I was ready for him to kill the crew and wouldn’t have been mad about it if he did; I was like “fuck it, he’s right.” like, I was just sitting there like DRAG LEON AND CHRIS HARDER FOR LITERALLY BEING "THE MAN" DRAG THEIR ASSES FORCE THEM TO FEEL SHAME

in a lot of cases, a story is only as good as its villain, and Dylan being so right was a big part of the reason why this movie worked so well.

Wesker could never.

[gnomescarfcomics]

Rings of Power: Episode 5 - Partings

Rewatch mini review. Chaotic and out of order.

Harfoots/Harfeet: They continue to be incredibly charming. Poppy's song and the accompanying traveling montage is one of my favorite things from the series. Nori and Definitely-Not-Gandalf's relationship is great. I love the juxtaposition of a hobbit teaching and encouraging a wizard, while he struggles with his own fear and darkness slowly consuming him. Whether intentional or not, their arc feels like an echo of one of the best scenes of Peter Jackson's Hobbit trilogy (and a quote that is often misattributed to Tolkien himself):

"Saruman believes it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. I've found it is the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keeps the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Because perhaps it is because I'm afraid, and he gives me courage."

The harshness of the Harfoot laws still holds things back a bit though and could have been handled better. I can see why it sucks some of the warmth out of the storyline for so many people.

Southlands: Arondir and Theo's bonding scene is especially great. Even with all the darkness around them, Arondir is trying so hard to keep everyone's spirits up and see their worth as people. And I really appreciate Theo showing them the evil sword-key rather than just keeping it secret for forced prolonged drama. That's something this series is actually pretty good at avoiding most of the time.

Waldreg is still one of my favorites (I really hope he shows up in season 2). The evil of his character is done in a very believable way. So many of the bad choices the characters make throughout the series are done out of misguided senses of righteousness, being trapped in a cycle of tradition, or simply not having all the information they need. But the darkest decisions are always done out of complete despair and desperation.

Numenor: Some of the momentum is lost after the end of the previous episode, not that what they're doing doesn't make sense. They need to prepare. Drama needs to happen first. But I think the ship sabotage, while a nice visual, was ultimately unnecessary. The time could have been better spent elsewhere. Galadriel's insistence on Halbrand being a king could have been expanded on a little bit more. I get that she basically just has a "feeling" about him (almost similar and contrasting Gandalf's about Bilbo), and this season is about the danger of assumptions. But it still felt a little underdeveloped.

Even with his limited screen time, I think Pharazon really comes into his own in this episode. His true intentions and what drives him comes into focus, and he's shown as misguided rather than outright evil. Earien and Kemen's relationship could have been given a little more time. But it's a rather insignificant aspect of the story, so if anything can survive being stripped down to the bare minimum, it's them.

But that brings me back to my main issue with Numenor. There's just too much going on. This series really should have had ten episode seasons, which apparently was the original intention. Hopefully season 2's structure ends up being more accommodating to the episode count.

Galadriel and Sauron's little heart to heart is fantastic. The ambiguity of just how sorry he is makes everything extra interesting. Bringing the Lord of the Rings himself to the forefront of things could have gone very poorly, but I think that, despite some bumps along the way, it's one of the strongest parts of the series. He's a tragic and charismatic character rather than a mustache twirling villain. There's plenty of time to focus on just how evil he is later on, but I appreciate they went for a more unexpected and complex telling of his story from the beginning. And it's all very rooted in Tolkien's descriptions of him.

Lindon: This is where the big problem makes its appearance. That darn mithril. It's hard to judge it completely until we know for sure what's going on. How much of the story is a lie? How does the mithril actually work? Was a Silmaril actually involved? Whatever the truth ends up being, they took a big swing with this lore invention, and I think it's mostly a miss. I appreciate the idea of a legend within the story that not even the characters know to be true or not. That feels very Tolkien and just a good use of myth and storytelling in general. But doing that with such a vital aspect of the overall story's core may have taken things too far.

And then there's Elrond's oath. I think it was poorly handled. The "rules" of his oath feel very vague. Based on his conversation with Celebrimbor, who he tells and what exactly he reveals don't seem to have concrete lines that can or cannot be crossed.

I assume Celebrimbor already knew there was at least some mithril around. Otherwise why would they specifically be looking for it with the dwarves? So are we to assume Elrond just didn't tell him how much the dwarves actually found? When did Celebrimbor test it? Did he mean he tested a piece they already found, which sparked their mission to find more? Did he test the little piece Elrond had after dinner. All of this could have been (and should have been) cleared up rather easily. I have to wonder how much of this is a result of the Celebrimbor recast, but that excuse can only go so far.

Elrond and Durin's friendship continues to be one of highlights of the series. Their chemistry and honesty with each other is refreshing. No matter how many political expectations or awkward racial differences attempt to keep them at odds with each other, it never takes long for them to just get to the raw meat of things.

Overall, some of the best individual scenes in the series only held back a bit by some truncated writing and a loss of momentum from the previous episode.

[wise-lizard-wizard]

thoughts on dino squad? (2007)

(btw it’s episodic. You can watch it in any order tbh (first episode is titled ‘the beginning’))

I absolutely adore it!

I run the account Victor-Veloci-Simp-69.

I've been thinking about linking it to my Main, purely bc when I reblog and reply on posts, it shows my main, so it seems like I don't interact with people as my DS account, which makes me sad because it feels like I might be interpreted as standoffish? But I never have time, and it feels insignificant to do so.

I watched the show when I was a kid, then rediscovered it a couple of years ago, and now every few years I rewatch it.

Its not Technically a "good" show but eh. I love it.

I think the reason why I'm so obsessed with the show is because (This going to get so long, I am so sorry, I have so many thoughts)

There are so much that is just never adressed. I have so many thoughts. There is so much to expand on, so many AUs that are there for the imagining.

I genuinely like the episodes. The plot is genuinely so much fun. The why's of these plots is...questionable. The how's is fun tho.

IT IS SO INCONSISTENT! Okay, not part of why I like it, but Ahhhhhhhhh. None of it makes sense. The characterization changes literally seconds apart!!!!! WHAT!!!!!

JUST FROM EPISODE 1: WHY IS BUZZ DEPICTED AS AN ANIMAL LOVER AND THEN GOES "NAH, I'M NOT SAVING THE DOG FROM DROWNING". This happens seconds Apart!!!!

Why does Roger act indifferent about the assignment and then say "we should work together on this assignment" and Care about the assignment. SECONDS APART!!!!!

THEN THERE'S THE ANIMATION! OH MY GOD. At 4:21, Caruso is shown barefoot. At 4:25 HE HAS SHOES ON.

Ms Moynihan after they get mutated goes: "I told u not to go into the water" NO YOU DIDN'T. YOU NEVER SAID THAT. WHY R U LYING.

(Okay, so she could have said that off screen,I'll give it a pass, but also Literally No Where was that message implied to have been said before she stated that. Also, that implies that she knows Veloci is regularly dumping shit in the water.)

Also, Veloci injects Peter in episode 1 and this is just...never adressed again? What does that do to Peter, besides his eyes changing? THERE IS NO EFFECT WHAT DOES IT DO, I DON’T REMEMBER SEEING THE GUY EVER AGAIN WHAT!!! WHY DID VELOCI DO THAT.

Since Peter was injected with the Ooze, but Veloci is looking for his "perfect dinosaurs", then that inplies Peter is a failed dino. What happened to him? I am in hysterics. What. DOES VELOCI JUST HAVE LIKE A BUNCH OF STAFF THAT ARE FAILED DINOS!!!? I HAVE QUESTIONS!!!

I AM....AHHHHHHHHHHHH....I am so normal about this hahahaha.

Which is probably why it sticks in my head so much. Any media I get obsessed with usually has some aspect that makes me want to rip apart a chair with my teeth. Half the fun is telling my friend about the thing that makes me choke in frustration/rage. I like ranting. Its part of the fun to me.

4) I love the animation style.

5) I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS, I AM CLAWING AT MY ENCLOSURE, HOW!!! HOW DID VELOCI AND MS M SURVIVE IN THAT CAVE???? WHERE THEY SLEEPING FOR MILLIONS OF YEARS??? IF SO, HOW WHERE THEY NEVER DISCOVERED BY HUMANS IN ALL THAT TIME?

AT WHAT POINT DID THEY AWAKEN? THROUGH WHAT TIME PERIODS HAVE THEY LIVED? HOW DID THEY EXPIERIENCE WORLD WAR 1? WORLD WAR 2? ALL THE TRAGEDIES? How did they get from point A to point B????

How did they get to their current lives?

There is so much that remains a mystery. And with the large amounts of time Veloci and Ms M had, there is so much thats just. Not there. There are so many gaps to fill. There are so many AUs that can happen. And with the inconsistencies, there are so many places where I can't image the characters are anything but either unreliable or maybe even straight up lying...

Oh, and that's the other thing:

5) They are all, and I mean every single character, Major Assholes. The assholiest. Their only consistent character trait is being an asshole. I love it.

Anyway, I am sooooi normal about this show. So normal.

Also, very important! I love your dinosquad posts!!!! They're really cool, and I love seeing you in the fandom! Just. Feel really gushy about your posts. Also, I always feel really happy when I see you liked one of my Dinosquad posts. Its a small fandom, so I always feel like I'm talking into a void.

I have more thoughts, but this post has gotte really long as is lmao. I am so sorry.

This ask meant a lot to me, so thanks ♥.